


Swiss-army Wife (Husband)

by ClasslessTulip



Series: Slice of Life [1]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: An in-depth description of sweater making, Being good husbands, Fluff, Future Fic, Graphic depictions of homesteading, M/M, Married Life, Slice of Life, Tiberius(Apprentice), Tiberius/Julian, handyman, hot knitting action
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 21:41:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16605962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClasslessTulip/pseuds/ClasslessTulip
Summary: A series of interconnected moments of life on the homestead, and the shenanigans involved. Includes graphic, nsfw depictions of turning raw wool into sweaters.





	Swiss-army Wife (Husband)

**Author's Note:**

> I love me my porn, don't get me wrong. But, it's cold here in Michigan, and I'm needing me a sweater. Therefore, Ty and Julian need sweaters.

     “FUCK!” A tinkling of broken glass and the clatter of metal followed. Julian growled, drumming his fingers on the lab counter with a grimace.

     This was the third beaker set that's gone and shattered this week. Tempered glass his ass! How is he supposed to do a gas extraction when the stoppered flask can't even hold up against **_half_ ** of the internal pressure that is listed!

    Sizzling reached his ears. Turning, he panicked. “Oh no! Oh no no nonono!” He fisted his hair, dancing in place as acid dissolved his knives. Those were a gift! Running to the water barrel, he scooped up a bucket and tossed it over the mess. A few sputters and pops later, and a pile of useless, pitted blades were revealed.

    Sighing, he walked to a corner. Unwinding a hose, he turned it on. Rinsing the counter, he pushed the blades into a disposal bucket. Cleaning up his mess, he picked up the bucket to bring it to the scrap pile.

    “What's going on, babe?” Looking up, he spotted Ty in the garden. Tanned due to his time out in the sun, he only had a thin shirt on, despite the Spring chill to the air. Looks like he was weeding the indigo patch.

    “Another accident. Except this time, not only did I lose my beakers, I also lost my knives,” he swung the bucket forward. Ty peaked in, gingerly picking up a handle. Twisting it about in the sunlight, he let out a low whistle.

    “Damn, sweetheart. You really did a number on this one. Although...yeah, that could work. Gimmie.”

    Julian handed the bucket over. “What will you do with it?”

    “Eh, I'll think of something.”

    A week later, a small but sharp knife was waiting for Julian on the kitchen counter.

***

    “GET OVER HERE YOU LITTLE FUCK!” Julian looked out the kitchen window. It speaks a lot about how over-the-top life with Ty was that he didn't even blink at the sight of said man chasing a woolly sheep through the garden. One hand clutched shears, the other his sunhat. Around his neck dangled a respiratory mask.

    It took Julian a few moments to remember what started this all: Mizz Lizzy. The old widow that had her homestead behind theirs had a flock of sheep, and it was shearing season. Her husband died a few years ago, and her children had moved away. The last few seasons one of the townsfolk would help her, but their fee's were starting to get stupid.

    Enter Ty. He would shear the whole flock (over a hundred sheep), in exchange for wool and mutton. She jumped at the offer, pissing off the previous shearer.

    Going into town was awkward for a few weeks, to say the least.

    Ty had started shearing the little monsters last week. There were only a dozen left, and he should be done today.

    Hearing more invective's, Julian took pity. Going out the back door, he creeped up behind the ewe. With a loud ‘A-ha!’, he pounced. With a hop, he ended up straddling the sheep's back with his arms around her neck. Taking this opportunity, Ty got her into a headlock, dragging her back to the ‘shearing station’: smooth plywood boards locked together. Once on it, he secured her face against his thighs as he masked up and clipped away. Spinning her like a top upon her rear, with a final _*snip*,_ she was sent on her way to stumble back to her field.

    An hour later, and the last sheep (a majestic ram they nicknamed Lucio) was tripping off. On the side of the boards, a mountain of wool sat. Little tufts danced about the yard, playing in the breeze. Two woolly, sweaty men sat on the deck swing, each clutching a glass of cold lemonade.

    They'll move the wool into the shed eventually.

***

    The wardrobe door squeaked something fierce; Julian winced as he moved it back and forth. Kneeling down to check the lower hinge, he spotted the start of dry rot. Skimming the rest of the heavy piece, other areas of worry popped out. He'll need to make arrangements to have a new one built. Once rot set in, there was no going back.

    Getting dressed, he walked downstairs. At the kitchen table Ty was already sat, doing paperwork. Balancing the ledgers, by the looks of it. “Tiberius, my love? What's the budget look like?” He poured a mug of hot coffee, adding a splash of cherry syrup for additional flavor.

    (Black coffee will always reign supreme, but Ty has rubbed off on him. Just not enough to add _whipped cream_ like some sort of godless heathen.)

    “We have no budget. You want something? I got it. Go get it and I'll buy it.” Julian really should know better: Ty's paycheques are ridiculous.

    “The wardrobe is showing bits of dry rot.”

    “Hmmmmmm, it's about time. Thing was ugly as _sin._ I'll see what I can do.”

    Four days and lots of sawing from the shed later, and a new polished wardrobe was sitting in place of the old one.

***

    It was Washing Day. Ty fucking **_hates_ ** Washing Day. Dragging out the basin, finding the scrubber, and don't get him **started** on the barrel press. The only thing worse than a regular Washing Day was a Wool Washing Day.

    Winter is coming. They need sweaters.

    Julian was ribbing him earlier. ‘It's only April,’ he said. ‘You've got time to make sweaters,’ he said.

    Bullshit. He's got to scour, dye, card, spin, ply, thwack, _and knit_ at least a sweater each before October hits. And considering he has approximately sixty pounds of wool to process…

    ...he's gonna need a bigger spinning wheel. He's always wanted a Kromski.

***

    Baskets of fruits and vegetables were scattered around the kitchen. Zucchini the size of small children, bunches and bunches of carrots. Literal laundry baskets of plum tomatoes, celery, cabbage, lettuce…

    And don't get him _started_ about the sinks and pots overflowing with grapes, cherries, blueberries and strawberries. Looking out the back door, Julian could see _even_ **_more_ ** boxes and bags full of produce. In the back garden, among the small orchard, some of the town children could be seen, stripping anything ripe from branches and bushes. On the deck swing sat Ty, feet up as he sipped a bottle of chilled ale. At his feet, an old Wolfhound napped. Must be one of the kid's.

    “I uh, see we've had a good harvest?” Julian came home for lunch, needing an hour or so to himself after some trying patients. He didn't expect a child army going through Ty's garden.

    To be honest, he didn't know just what Ty did with the land. The house sat on several acres on the outskirts of town. They were only a short 15-minute walk from the main square, where his clinic was located. As a result, he got sucked into lots of long shifts. He let Ty have run of the place (despite Ty naming him the Owner/Beneficiary of House and Land on the Deeds, even though **he** bought it all), helping when he can.

    Looks like he was able to do a lot.

    Ty let out a laugh, bending over to scratch behind the dog's ears. “That we did. Seeing all the work, I asked some of the mothers if I could ‘borrow’ their kids for a bit. Most were happy to send the hellions my way for a few hours of peace. Got the kids to help by saying they could eat as much as they wanted,” he chuckled again, the dog setting its head in his lap, whining for more pets. “It also helps to throw some sweets their way.” Heaving himself up, he pulled Julian in for a hug and kiss. “How's about some fresh fruit salad and a cool glass of iced tea, yeah?”

***

    Julian danced over, under, and around piles of wet wool. Every surface, every bit of floor, _anything_ flat and horizontal was covered in tarp and, and...sheep peelings!

    (He's so surprised and frustrated, he's forgotten the Common word for fleece.)

    “Um, Ty? My love? Can I just, just ask you one thing? What the fuck?” He folded his arms, staring in bewilderment at a disheveled Umbra Warlord who is elbow deep in sudsy water. He was on the back deck, piles of yet-to-be-washed wool off to the side.

    Tiberius shot up and twisted, showing that quite a bit of water had soaked his loose shirt. It wouldn't take a lot to get Julian to admit that he was going to let the other off the hook, what with how the pale shirt clung transparently to a hard chest, firm abs…

    “Oh, sweetheart. Sorry, I had forgotten that today was a half-day. I've already made lunch, it's being kept warm in the oven,” he turned, heaving the washing bucket up. Walking to the edge of the deck, he drained the water off. Once finished, he walked over to a mesh draining/drying screen. Dumping the fleece out, he pawed at it. Satisfied with how it laid, he closed the top.

    Wiping his hands on a towel, he walked back into the house. Walking over to the brick oven, he opened the door and pulled out a covered dish. Setting it down, he opened the top to reveal a warm Shepherds Pie. In a few quick steps, he had plates and cutlery set out.

    Julian was feeling a little embarrassed. He hadn't meant to bark as he did at Ty. And Ty just let it roll off his back, pulling out a warm meal and settling him in after what must have been an exhausting day. Julian only had to put up with the sick and stupid who walked into his clinic. Ty on the other hand must have been busting his ass, cooking, cleaning, and doing whatever **that** is he's been doing.

    Thinking about it is a bit...humbling.

    He blushed. “Sorry. For earlier.” He got redder when Ty dropped a kiss to his lips.

    “Don't worry about it. It's not like you and we both know it. I take it the Wool Explosion threw you off?” He poured fresh pressed apple juice into cups.

    “Um yes. Yes it has. What all are you doing with it?”

    “Cleaning it. Then I need to dye it before carding and spinning. But, I'll only be doing all that to what I'll be using. The rest of the wool will be stored in my workshop and further processed as needed.”

     “...can I help?” Seeing the look on Ty's face, how it lit up, filled his chest with warmth. Now that Ty has his Mastery, he's taken on the bulk of the household chores, only going out when his Specialty is called for or something magical happens near town. Until he can get an extra Doctor on board, Julian is going to be pulling 10-to-12 hour days for quite some time.

    He misses spending time with his husband.

***

    Several canning pots were bubbling away, sealed mason jars sat inside. Batches of tomato sauce, pickling onions and cucumbers, and other canned goods were next to him on the counter, waiting for their turn. Currently, he was finishing the last of the jams he had made.

    Fishing out the jars and placing them into cooling racks, the latest batch was started. He returned to the dining table, braiding bunches of onion, garlic, and Seong peppers together to store and dry. Taking a few armfuls down to the cellar, row and rows of racks could be seen. Some were already groaning under the strain of their bounty.

    Ty made a mental note to pick up more jars along with the baking supplies. It would also be prudent to see about getting some drying racks, as well; The herb section of the garden went _nuts._

***

    Julian danced about his lab, humming under his breath. Before him was an army of beakers, several simmering over burners. Each had a different colored liquid, some thin and transparent, others thick and opaque.

    Ty had asked him to prepare the dyes and mordants for the sweaters! He got to pick his colors!

    On the back counter, various piles of plant matter sat. He was familiar with indigo, and knew woad was used by the Painted People far to the Northeast. But red cabbage? Cherries? _Walnuts!?_

   Ty had provided a chart, with instructions of how each pigment was to be extracted and what mordant would work best. Further down, ratios of what colors to mix for the final desired product were printed, Ty's scrawled notes for the best way to mix or tweaks next to them. Ty was already out back, tufts of clean wool soaking in large vats waiting to be mixed with their shade.

    Draining a few ready dyes into fresh beakers, Julian pranced out the back door. Hands firmly grasping glass, he bounced in place as Ty mixed a mordant in a bowl with some of the warm soon-to-be dye water. At a kiss to the cheek, he passed over one of the beakers, a pale green dye.

    Julian watched avidly, ready for some chemistry. What was the mordant: a base? An acid? What characteristics did the dye have, and what will happen when the two mix? Fizzing? Get chunky? Change color?

    His eyebrows disappeared into his hairline: his guess of color changing was correct. HOW the color changed, though, was blowing his mind.

    Ty poured the prepared dye water into the beaker, when the most **_amazing_ ** thing happened. As the mordant poured in, where it streamed the pale green turned a darker, more dramatic shade. Soon, eddies of color swirled together, encased in clear glass. After a few swirls, Ty tipped the beaker about, finishing the mixing process. Scooping in a bit more of the mordant, the final mix produced a deep, intense emerald green.

    “...that's witchcraft.” Ty snickered at him. “Don't you laugh at me! I know chemistry when I see it, and that,” he pointed, “is **_witchcraft!”_ ** After a beat, he spun, running back into the house. “Let's do more!”

    Ty dumped the dye into the vat, using a long doweling rod to gently mix the water and pigment, stirring the wool as he did so. A half-grin tugged at his lips as he could make out Julian singing a badly rhyming song about the wonders of chemistry.

***

    Snuggling a few covered dishes together, Ty closed the basket. Giving it a shake and hearing little rattling, he made a satisfied sound. Rolling up his flannel cuffs, he locked up the house before going down the lane. Once at the main road, he turned left.

    Switching the basket handle to a different arm, he hummed lightly under his breath. If he picks up the pace a bit more, he should be at the clinic right as Julian is ready for lunch. Lengthening his stride, long legs started to eat up the ground. Soon, his feet were hitting cobbles. The square was pretty packed, market in full swing. Dodging around busy shoppers, he trotted through the clinic door. He passed Reception with a wave. Julian's office is in the far back quarter, just off the lab area. He dropped a few hello's, handing out goodies to the other Doctors. In the break-room, he left a platter of cookies.

    Coming to Jules door, he knocked on the open frame. Bent over his desk, Julian was frowning at some poor piece of paper. His long gloves were off, and Ty could see his black apron off to the side, leaving him in his white Doctor's uniform. Lips puckered, something read off the paper seemingly to have insulted Julian.

    “Hey, sweetheart.”

    Julian jerked, looking up. A smile bloomed across his face. “Ty! Lovely to see your face! A nice change of scenery,” he stood. Coming around his desk, he planted a big kiss to smiling lips. “Not complaining about your company, for it is much more pleasant than what I've had today, but I must confess, did I forget something?”

    Ty's hand curled around the other's cheek, a thrum of pleasure warming him as Julian sighed and pressed into a warm palm. “Nah babe, just wanted to have lunch with you. A feast for sore eyes and an empty stomach.” His heart started to melt at the soft, tired look he got.

    When will they get a new Doctor?

***

    His arms ached, and his shoulders were on fire. He's been carding for _five hours._ There was still three-quarters of his wool pile left.

     **_When will this war end?_ **

    “You doing okay, babe?” A chill glass was pressed to the side of his face, pulling a moan from his chest. Grasping it, Julian emptied it in a single gulp. He passed it back with a gasped ‘Thanks’.

    Ty examined the rollags that were done. “Not bad, not bad at all.” He looked at the other mounds. Wool in riots of red, greens, golds and blues were scattered around his workshop. Julian was currently working on a dusty olive colored one. For a complete beginner, he wasn't doing half bad. “I think that's enough for now. Thanks for letting me borrow your _fantastic_ shoulders,” a leer was added for good measure.

    (From where Ty had been sitting, he had an excellent view of the ‘Shoulder Show’ Julian had been putting on. 10/10 would watch again.)

    Bending over, he grasped under Julian's arms, hauling him up with a ‘hup!’. Spinning a aching Doctor, he dropped a few soft kisses to lips below him, ones that were quickly returned. “Hmmm, sweetheart? Follow me. I need to show you something…” wandering hands joined the festivities.

    Julian smirked into the lips on his. “Oh, really? What is it? Something good?” He's _pretty sure_ he knows where this is going.

    “Um-hm. It's upstairs. In the bedroom. And you need to take off your clothes, otherwise you can't see it,” Ty walked them out of the workroom, the sounds of Julian's chuckles trailing behind them.

***

    Rain drummed off of the roof and windows, the occasional flash of lightning and roll of thunder joining in. It was predicted to rain the next few days. Perfect for farmers and gardeners not wanting to water their gardens. It had been dry for a few weeks, and the soil could use it.

    The bedroom window had been swung open, a collapsible awning slid into place to keep rain out. It was grey, the sun hiding behind fat rain-clouds. Under light blankets, arms and legs tangled, shifting lazily. Skin would catch on skin, and hands ran and cradled hips and shoulders. Whispers of kisses were breathed as two warm bodies slithered closer. Quiet conversation flitted about between stretches of soft and even breathing.

    Housekeeping could be done later.

***

    Excited footsteps were racing throughout the house. A few murmurs could be heard, along with other happy sounds. Walking down the hallway, Julian peeked into Ty's workshop and was frozen in place.

    Something straight out from a fairy tale sat, surrounded by packing. Gingerly stepping around packing debris, he came closer. He remembered Ty mentioning that he ordered a spinning wheel, but didn't think it would look like _this._

    As a little boy, his mother and father would read a story to Pasha and him every night. His favorite was about a princess, one cursed to sleep on her 16th birthday after pricking her finger on a spinning wheel. The book had detailed colored illustrations, and this wheel looked like it had been cut out of it. Gleaming red wood, polished copper hardware. The symmetrical spokes of the wheel, and the tall wool-arm…

    He sat, legs crossed as he looked closer at it. Cautiously, he placed a pointed finger between the spokes on the wheel, nudging it into movement. It rotated slowly, the soft clicks of the foot pedals loud in the quiet room.

    A hand on his shoulder startled him. Looking up revealed the culprit was Ty. He looked at Julian with a smile. “Nice, huh? I'm debating getting a matching floor loom. Something like what Ma had.”

    Julian is familiar with simple table and lap looms, every lower-class family had one in Nevivion. You only bought the more difficult-to-produce clothing items when needed. Everything else was made in-house. “Is it possible to get hers sent here?” He knows how much anything of hers means to Ty.

    Ty laughed. “You've never seen an actual floor loom, otherwise you wouldn't have said that. It would take four men to disassemble, pack, ship, and reassemble it here from Serenissima. It's actually cheaper for me to buy it directly from Kromski or Toika and have them set it up. Besides,” he gave a sad half-smile, “between the three of us, Belial is a little left out. Ma was teaching him how to use it when she passed, and I don't want to leave him bereft.”

    Julian hummed. “How much will this loom cost?”

    “For the model I'm interested in, a little less than 16,000 gold.”

    Julian clutched his chest, falling backwards as his breath left him. That was nearly _half_ his yearly wage.

    Thank the gods Ty is loaded!

***

    “Eh, Doc! How's yer wife!” Old Mag and his buddies laughed uproariously, finding some sort of humor in his remark. They were sitting at a table outside of the pub, drinks in hand. Next door was a spice merchant's shop, Julian picking up some of their more obscure selection.

    He blinked, puzzled. “Um, I'm sorry? Are you okay, Mag? I have a husband.” A wonderful, loving, generous and supportive husband.

    (He still wonders if Ty hit his head before he proposed.)

     “Hehehe, husband. Right. That ain't a man you got. That's a wife!” One of Mag's buddies guffawed, snorting. “Where can I get me one o’ those? Cooks, cleans, gardens, ha! You don't need to do anythin’. Course,” he scratched his chin, “could do without the cock. Shame he ain't a she.”

    Julian bristled. He knew what these old codgers were getting at. Ty fits their view of a ‘housewife’ to a T. Cooking, cleaning, mending, the whole forty.

    (Jokes on them. Ty has a weekly ‘Garden Party’ where all of the ladies (and a few young gentlemen) come around to socialize. He has so much dirt on everyone, he has a better idea of what's what than even the Mayor.)

    Another laughed. “Ha! He's so under the Doctor's boot, if Doc were a female, **_he'd_ ** probably stay home with the kids! _Pfffft!_ Unnatural!” He held up a pointed finger, wagging it, “I've got eight kids, and I've never changed a dirty diaper!”

    His wife. His poor, _poor_ wife. “I just think it's a **shame** that so many wonderful and talented women have been shackled to useless husbands.” He finished selecting his spices, setting the tied-off bags into his basket for purchase. He smiled at the insulted sounds and looks the old men gave him. “Now, **_gentlemen,_ ** I need to get home to my **_husband,_ ** and help prepare dinner.” He turned, heading to a snickering counter-girl but not before throwing over his shoulder, “Oh, by the way Mag, those spots on your thighs? The ones that come and go? Might want to talk to your wife about that.”

***

    A week later saw Julian laid out on the couch, book in hand. On the coffee table was his mug, hot cocoa with a splash of rum and whipped cream on top. He turned a page, brow raised at the _horrible_ plot. He has no issue admitting a weakness for bodice rippers, but come on now! He has **some** standards for his badly written smut, and this book was frankly disappointing.

    Hearing a door open and close, Ty walked into the living room. He was holding his wheel, a basket of rollags hanging from his arm. Julian sat up in interest.

    Taking a few minutes to place the wheel and have a seat, the bobbin and flyer was strung. Threading the lead, Ty picked up a rollag, pushing his finger into the center. Pulling a tuft from the free end, he started pedaling the wheel slowly. He overlaid the wool and lead, holding the two together until satisfied with the twist. Letting the now-twisted wool be drawn in, he started feeding more in.

    Julian scooted closer, feeling soothed from the steady repetitive clicks of the pedals and flier. Laying on his stomach, he pillowed his head on his arms, propping his chin on the couch arm. The long, slow movements of Ty spinning long draw from the fold were hypnotizing, and soon saw him dropping off into sleep.

***

    “Hey, sweetheart? C'mon, time to wake up,” Ty gave a gentle shake to a curled shoulder, a disgruntled moan his gift for trying to wake Jules. The other pulled up fisted sheets, rolling onto his stomach. With a sigh Ty pushed, continuing the roll and forcing Julian onto his back.

    As the other sprawled, a coal of anger ignited in Ty's belly. Dark circles hugged Julian's eyes, and his skin had a sallow tint. The other had been working non-stop at the clinic, going _weeks_ without a day off. As the Head of the clinic, he was the first to take on more hours but Ty **knew** the younger Junior Doctors were starting to get worn down as well.

    What was taking the Mayor's office so long? Ty knows that there have been many applicants for the three vacant Doctor positions, with room and need for a further two Nurses and an additional Receptionist. Yes, Law requires that the Mayor and Council needs to approve the applications before Julian can even consider them, but it's been months!

    (He knows the Laws are in place to ensure safety and truthfulness in credentials, and much of the clinic budget comes from taxes, but this is ridiculous!)

    Getting an exhausted Julian dressed and fed, Ty walked him to the clinic, needing to take care of a few things in town. With a kiss to chill lips and passing over a sealed coffee mug, Ty walked away, turning a corner a few streets down and passing the local newspaper. He stopped to chat with one of the employees on her smoke break as he bought a copy.

    It came as quite the surprise a week later when it was revealed just how mismanaged the town budget was. Quite a few people, Mayor included, were escorted to the local lockup and an appointee from the Governor's Office took over. Poor Julian was overwhelmed with applications, but had a huge smile on his face.

    Ty just sat and sipped his tea, nodding or commenting as his husband bubbled about in happy relief.

***

     _“Pffftttppft!”_

    Wet yarn clung to his face, and Julian shivered as trickles of water ran down his neck. He still stood in the doorway, hand clutching the doorknob. He gave a few shakes of the head, bunches of yarn walking down his face as others clung to his locks. He did _not_ appreciate the snort Ty let out at his disgruntled look.

    “Sorry, babe. Didn't see you there!” He would sound more sincere, Julian thought, if he wasn't grinning unrepentantly.

    “I'd believe you more if I didn't know you half as well as I should, but more than you deserve,” a ball of amusement welled in his chest as Ty stopped laughing, brow furrowed as he actually _thought_ about what Julian said.

    “...heyyyyyy!”

    “Sorry, I had to say it. I'd be a massive disappointment otherwise!” He unwound the wet yarn skein from his head and shoulders, pecking the other on the cheek.

    “I regret introducing you to that series.” Ty actually doesn't. He felt like he was sharing a piece of his soul when he loaned to the other his most favorite book series. He knew the other was a voracious reader, at one point amassing a large personal library with a wide variety of genres. He was so damn **happy** when the other devoured the books, reading them at every chance he could.

    “Regardless, just **_what_ ** are you doing? I thought for a moment that you had gotten drenched and were going to warm up in the bath, but now I can see how wrong I was.”

    The bathroom was taken over by yarn. Skeins and skeins of it. It covered the counters. It covered the benches. The bathtub was half-way filled, yarn soaking in warm semi-sudsy water. A portable drying rack had a few damp skeins hanging from it. Looking closer, Julian could see a definite difference in the yarn, the wet ones looking much more ‘finished’, for the lack of a better word.

    “I'm thwacking. Basically, beating the shit out of the yarn to set the twist. Wanna try? It's great stress relief.” Julian snatched a skein, not needing to be asked twice. He'd rather get pinned to a hard surface and done in, but he still had interviews to conduct. Which had been going great until today.

    “So, best way to do this is simple. After soaking, you squeeze, **not** twist, but squeeze the excess water out. Then, grab a section and just smack it against something hard but smooth. This helps the energy from spinning settle into the yarn properly. Go for it, babe, and don't worry too much about damaging the yarn. Wool's pretty sturdy stuff.”

    Before Ty could even fully finish his sentence, Julian got to it. Swinging the skein against the tub rim was very cathartic. A lot of frustration and no small amount of anger melted away from him at each wet _‘thwack!’_ that sounded. After a few minutes of this, he jumped at the hand on the small of his back.

    “Hey, sweetheart? Are you okay? Did something go wrong?” Gods, how did Julian get such a **nice** person as a husband? He didn't have to tell him anything was wrong, he just _knew._

    “I just had a...trying interview today. Don't worry about me darling, I'll be right as rain in no time!” He didn't want to mention that he may be forced to hire this person, regardless of how she acted towards him. They **_need_ ** a Bone Specialist. Farming communities produced a lot of breaks and fractures, some of them life-changing. He can't just say _‘no’_ because of things she implied towards him in an interview.

    Ty didn't buy his assurances for a hot minute. Julian's eyes were a bit too tight, his smile a bit too strained. He decided to leave it for now. Julian is a capable man, able to look after himself. He'll only interfere if things don't resolve themselves soon.

***

    Today was another Lunch Day. Dinner the previous night was made by Julian, and quite a bit of beef roast had been left over. Chunking it and throwing it into a pot with some diced carrot, potatoes, and some pearl onions and Ty quickly had a rich, thick stew simmering away for a few hours.

    Trying to decide between Shepherd's Pie or stuffed buns, he went with the latter. Quickly mixing and kneading the dough, he left it to prove while he diced some late-harvest fruit. Thinking why not, go all in, he pulled out some puff pastry he had in a cold-cupboard and started filling those. Warming the bread oven, he baked the turnovers as he rolled out and filled the buns. Making each one large, he made sure to bake enough to feed the other Doctors. Throwing those in with a few carafe's of spiced tea, and he was out the door.

    Making a mental note to get started on the sweaters, he was at the clinic in no time. With the additional Nurses, it was much less frantic than before. Leaving some offerings at the Altar of Reception, he continued back. Passing an occupied room, he could see Julian finishing up with a patient. Motioning that he would meet the other in his office, Ty continued on. Settling in, he folded out some napkins to rest the food on, making sure the Stasis Runes embroidered on them were clear.

    As he was futzing around the side table, he could hear Julian enter. “Just a moment, sweetheart, just need to _MMPH!”_ A long-fingered hand spun him before pulling him in for a heated kiss. He returned it with enthusiasm, hands gripping and clawing red silken strands. Julian pushed against him, mouth and teeth devouring his lips as hungry hands roamed over warm flesh.

    Feeling the backs of his legs hit Julian's desk, Ty regretfully ripped his mouth away from the others. Before he could question just _what_ had gotten his sweetheart into such a state (not that he's complaining), Julian shoved at his chest. Ty landed with a sprawl, arms wide. He looked on with hot anticipation as Julian climbed up and sat, grinding down hard on Ty's cock. Lips and hands returned to their earlier forays, the nimble hands of a healer unbuttoning the shirt below him as a hot mouth glued itself to a swan-like neck.

    The two were on each other like teenagers who just discovered necking for the first time. Pushing hard shoulders down, Julian clawed obsidian curls as he arched in, moaning as a clever tongue slid against his and large fingers smoothed over his still-clothed backside. It was only as Ty was sliding his hands down Julian's pants to cup firm cheeks, and Julian twisted his fingers and tongue into dark hair and a slick mouth that they were interrupted. Office door slamming against the wall, a short figure bounced in.

    Stacks of paper in her hands, Bone Specialist Jolene D'Egre waltzed in. Under the pretense of ‘ _incorrect records’,_ she was going to corner the beautiful and handsome Dr. Julian Devorak and try to...get to know him better.

    (Word about town is that he's happily married, and to a **man** at that! Nonsense! No man could understand another the way a woman does, nor love him like a woman can!)

    It has been a few weeks since she started in the clinic, and she can tell the good Doctor is slowly succumbing to her charms. How can one not want to feel her silky hair and soft skin? Or smell her sweet scent? Or even _*blush*,_ devour her?

    (She giggled the first time she thought of Devorak the Devourer.)

    Fantasies of being roughly yet gently taken by a man overcome with lust upon a desk of healing, she came to a hard stop at the portrait of carnal cavorting that beset her eyes. Hard muscle on muscle, fingers clawing like two predators in a fight, tongues and mouths and teeth tearing at each other…

    Hearing a squeak and a thud, the two men disengaged. Sitting back on a hard groin, Julian turned to see Dr. D'Egre on the floor in a dead faint, papers scattered about. Ty leaned up, meaty hand rubbing up and down the other's neck in a soothing motion.

    “Sooooo…,” Ty drawled. Julian locked eyes with him, relieved to see humor in them. _“This_ is what had you so coiled these last few weeks. Oh, sweetheart. You should have told me!” He leaned in, nuzzling his nose along the others, relishing in the heat of embarrassment Julian's face gave off.

    Before he could continue, Thea poked her head in. She didn't even bat an eye at their lustful state. Looking between them and D'Egre, she deadpanned, “Want me to stick her in the closet?”

    A few hours later, an amused Governor Appointee laughed them out of the office, admonishments to not do it again falling from her lips. As her office door closed, the two could hear her round on D'Egre and start verbally ripping her to shreds.

    Julian hopes lunch is still warm by the time they make it back to the clinic. Trying to reheat meat buns is murder.

***

    Ty was under attack. An angry porcupine in a holey sweater was doing battle with his hands, and Julian has no idea who is winning. Books and sheaves of paper were scattered, unfortunate victims in this senseless conflict.

    “I can hear your brain fizzing from here. Come on in.”

    Finished with his boots, Julian entered the kitchen. The table was covered in yarn, needles, paper and books. Diagrams and mathematics were scrawled all over, various colors of squares in seemingly random patterns were strewn about on scraps. Not one, not two, but _three_ books were cracked open, color charts dancing across their pages.

    Before him sat six notched wooden bowls, each holding a different color of yarn. A riot of blues, greens, and golds snaked out, leading to the needles in Ty's hands. Julian is familiar with the double-pointed needles, Ty always knocking out a few pairs of socks per month for them. He's just never seen Ty do this before.

    Somehow, Ty was knitting with three different colors at the same time, but not? Julian's brain is currently doing cartwheels trying to figure out how Ty's doing the _thing,_ but fears he may get an aneurysm if he continues trying to do so.

    “It's the sleeve of one of the sweaters. The technique is Fair Isle. I'm essentially making a design with two to three different colors on each row.” Upon closer inspection, Julian saw yarn wrapped around Ty's fingers on both hands. As he made stitches, needle and finger danced to work the desired color. Ty went much slower than his usual speed, and the fabric looked much thicker than usual.

    Coming to a stopping point, Ty laid out the sleeve. A solid-color ribbed cuff bloomed into gold and green designs on a indigo background. Organic shapes and swirls danced and locked together, slowly expanding the width of the sleeve. On the underside, a checkered-looking pattern an inch-and-a-half wide ran down.

    “It looks _beautiful,”_ long fingers ran down the material, Julian using a supreme amount of willpower to not rub his face all-over the soft, silky wool. “But, what's this for?” The checkered area looked very out of place. Looking closer, the sleeve looked wider than it should, especially when considering the sleeve only went up to the elbow.

    “A steek. Once I cast off the sleeve and finish the rest of the sweater, I sew support yarn down either side of the center, secure it, and then cut straight down.”

     _“You're going to_ **_cut_ ** _the sweater!?_ **_WHY!?”_ ** Has Ty lost his _mind?_ You're not supposed to cut a sweater! How are you supposed to keep warm?

    Ty was wheezing. The look of pure horror on Julian's face was priceless. He looked like he wanted to cuddle the half-sleeve, but feared ruining it. “Jus-, just calm down, babe! It'll be fine! I know what I'm doing, I've done this before!” He started snickering as Julian picked up the green yarn ball, cradling it to his face.

    “Shhh, shh. It's okay, Ilya's got you. I won't let the big bad Tiberius snip you,” he turned with a baleful look to Ty. “If you _ruin_ all of my hard work,” he referenced the _10-hours_ spent carding this particular color, “I will end you.”

    Ty debated telling the other he had had a drum carder the whole time, but decided against it. Julian has some **_nice_ ** shoulders.

***

    Sprawling again on the couch, Julian was wincing as he read. This particular series of novels was _so badly_ written it **hurt.** Calling them ‘romance novels’ or ‘smut’ would be an insult to ACTUAL romance novels and smut. The latter, while full of flimsy, self-manufactured plots and horrid prosaic purple prose, are at least entertaining in their badness.

    (And he's a sucker for happy endings. Sue him.)

    But these were just **bad.**

    Apparently his groans of second-hand embarrassment were loud enough to draw Tiberius from his workshop. With a questioning look on his face, he poked his head into the living room, “At first, I thought you were doing something else. Now I'm disappointed.”

    Covering his eyes with another groan, Julian turned into the couch, tossing aside the book as he did so. “This...this TRIPE! This Garbage! This _FILTH,”_ he leapt to his feet, brandishing a pointed finger and a look of disgust on his face, “is being passed off as **ROMANCE!** ” Ty just leaned against the doorway, arms crossed as he settled in for some quality entertainment.

    Arms waving and flapping about, Julian proselytized. “Romance! Romance should grip you tight, feelings fluttering in captured fascination as you watch the gentle bloom of interest blossom into the full-petaled _passion_ of hearty lust and desire! Your heart should pump, your breath catch, and _loins_ quiver in want as you are swept up in the all-consuming **burn, burn** of their hearts as they indulge in the most carnal and dark desires the heart could have!” He spun, his wild gesticulations narrowing down to a single pointed finger. Pointing to the book in question with a look of betrayal, hip cocked, he continued in a low voice, “What romance _is not,_ is the phrase _‘dainty blue-bells of bruises around her sacred flower’.”_

    “...what.”

    “I know! I...know! It's just **_horrible!_ ** And don't get me started about crucifix nail nipples! That exact term is also used in this series! I just...WHY!?” He sunk down onto his knees, head thrown back and hands in his lap.

    “Why don't you just write your own?” Why not, Julian's certainly dramatic enough for it.

    Ty know's he'll eventually come to regret that remark.

***

    “Is it done yet? Is it done yet? Ty? Are you done? Can I wear it? Is it- _*mphrgl!*”_ A pillow muffled the rest of the sentence.

    “No, Jules. It's **not** done yet. It's not dry yet.” Ty was going to commit murder. He had finished both sweaters. They were currently blocking on sweater frames in the living room near the fireplace. He was only a week behind his desired finish date, but still before the first snow. The last few days Julian had ants in his pants, anticipation swimming through his bloodstream. He was very _attentive_ in his assistance, offering his services as a yarn holder.

    In other words, he was all up in Ty's business. Ty was ready to commit murder, burn down the house to cover his tracks, and fuck off to Serenissima.

    (That's a lie. He fucking adores Julian. He doesn't know what he would do with himself if the other left his life.)

    With a bounce, Julian plonked himself down on the floor, staring hard at the sweaters. His fingers twitched and a knee jiggled as he worked to contain himself. Ty knit him a sweater! He grew up hearing about the sweater myth! The fact Ty was comfortable enough (and _in love_ with him enough) to devote entire months of his time and energy to make, from scratch, matching sweaters just...just...MAKES HIM _SO_ **_HAPPY!_ **

    “You know, watching them isn't going to make them dry any faster,” Ty drawled from the couch. He turned a catalogue page, mentally making a note to add-on to his workshop _again_ before he buys his loom.

    Julian twisted to look at him. Long legs covered under a thick blanket, hair contained in a thick and messy braid, backlit by the light streaming through the window…

    Oh dear gods above, just **how** did Julian get blessed with this man. So nice, so funny. He's his up when he's down and the anchor to his flights of fancy. And the way he was _displaying_ himself. How **_dare_ ** Ty tease him with that dipped collar! And his broad shoulders! And don't get him started on how the blanket draped over long, muscled legs.

    The _sin._ The **audacity.** Has Ty no shame!?

    “You are correct, darling. While a worthy endeavor, my time really should be spent doing other _things…”_

    Sliding his booklet off to the side, Ty leaned back with open arms and a wicked smile, “Come and get it.”

***

    Off in his lab, Julian sat hunched over his desk. He tapped his pen before dashing off a few more sentences. Nibbling his lip, he made a correction before continuing.

    Being banned from the living room, he decided that Ty was right; he should write his own romance novel. Now the question was, just _what_ should he write?

    After hemming and hawing about (and getting glared at by Ty when he dared to show his face in the living room again), he came to a brilliant conclusion; write about their Investigation! It was perfect! It had all the drama, action, angst, and steam of a good, attention getting romp and enough lusty shenanigans to satiate the most bothered of bosoms!

    Besides, who can resist a good lovers, to friends, to partners story? Complete with the time-proven tropes of Fugitive/Investigator with mystery and suspense?

    Writing with renewed vigor, he made a mental note to tone down some of their antics. Even he admits that some of their couplings are a little too far fetched, despite being an active participant. Suspension of disbelief can only go so far.

***

    Julian was curled up in front of the fire, lounging on the bearskin rug, hugging himself in bliss. At random, he would buss his cheeks against his shoulders and arms, rubbing against the sweater that was **finally** finished.

    Ty thought it was adorable. He'll need to make matching socks. The moment Ty handed him the dry sweater, Julian had exploded into movement. He wasted no time in ripping off his shirt and pulling the other on. Afterwards, he had sprinted to the entrance hall and the long hanging mirror by the door.

    Watching the other pose and turn about, big goofy grin pulling his lips up high, Ty felt his heart melt. It turned into a puddle when Julian bounded back into his arms, squeezing him hard into one of the best hugs Ty has ever had as the other nuzzled under his chin, dropping butterfly kisses on all the skin he could reach. Detaching after several long minutes of affection, Julian flopped down before hugging himself and giving a few rolls. With a final happy huff, he lay on his back, letting the blazing heat of the fireplace sink in.

    That does it. Ty's getting that floor loom and making the most fucking **_amazing blanket EVER_ ** if this is how Julian reacts to a sweater!

***

    He had second thoughts when, a few weeks later in the local bookstore, a new novel featuring two men who eerily matched their descriptions on the cover in an almost-compromising position was in the ‘New Author!’ section. Staring in disbelief, he read the synopsis before buying one. Getting home, he threw his copy of _Wild and Wicked_ at a gleeful Julian, giving his smirking husband an absolute earful.

**Author's Note:**

> Kromski and Toika are actual companies. Go to yarn.com (yes, this is a legit website) to see what has Ty all excited.


End file.
